| Предыдущее посещение: менее минуты назад | Текущее время: 08 мар 2026, 22:35 |
“You’ve been spying on me,” Lyra whispered. “On all of us.”
August 19th. The heat clung to the skin like a secret.
“Lyra,” Marcus said, not startled. He never was. “You should be sleeping.”
“I found the letter,” she said.
As the first flame licked through the parlor curtains, Lyra turned and walked into the woods. She didn’t look back. Behind her, Marcus screamed her name—not in rage, but in wonder.
“What?”